


Send-off

by cyanspade



Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY, 天下統一恋の乱 Love Ballad | Samurai Love Ballad (Video Game), 天下統一恋の乱 | Sakura Amidst Chaos (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Past Character Death, Recovered Memories, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanspade/pseuds/cyanspade
Summary: Through some odd stroke of luck, MC manages to strike a deal with a ghost—help him regain memories of a life he can’t remember so he can finally move on. But in the process, she realizes something about him is achingly familiar.Maybe he wasn’t the only one with missing fragments.





	Send-off

Umeko probably got carried away at the shopping arcade, MC thought.

Here she was, in the middle of her spurred-on vacation, and Umeko was nowhere to be found. Leave it to Umeko to ditch her in the middle of shopping.

_This whole trip was her idea, too!_

It was a month ago when Umeko suggested she and MC go on vacation together using their accumulated vacation days. MC thought the idea was harmless enough, and besides, she needed a break from working at the restaurant nonstop anyway. They planned on sightseeing in the Kyoto area only, though; despite everything, they were still on a tight budget.

Which was how she ended up all alone in a shopping district in the middle of Teramachi, Kyoto.

MC’s phone buzzed, and Umeko’s text message made her eyes roll.

[ _I’m so sorry, MC! I had something important to take care of!! I’ll treat you to anything you want later, I promise!!!_ _ｍ(_ _｡_ _≧_ _Д_ _≦_ _｡)_ _ｍ_ ]

It looked like MC was stuck wandering around to kill time, she supposed. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to just take in the sights on her own.

The shopping arcade was bustling with locals and tourists alike, each person moving in and out of the shops as if they were flitting by. It was interesting seeing the juxtaposition of old and new fused together, especially with the array of Edo period eateries right next to fast food joints. The chef in her was tempted to sample the food, but her budget (or a lack thereof) held her back.

Walking around a bit more, she noticed the area had gotten quieter. She took a moment to take in her surroundings, and sure enough, she reached a temple complex—and a beautiful one at that. The air around it carried an austere tranquility, as if holding a history far darker than its guileless appearance.

Her legs ached a bit from all the walking she did, so she plopped down onto one of the stone benches near the temple’s main hall.

No one was around, and the lack of people made the silence even more apparent against the temple’s surroundings. She could see stone lanterns and markers etched with long-lost names line the periphery of the main hall, along with trees that were slowly changing its leaves from summer to fall.

 _Peaceful_.

(And a little bit wistful, too.)

A flash of white caught her gaze, and she turned to look at the  _saisen_  box in front of the main hall. What really got her attention, however, was the man in front of the box. He wore a white  _yukata_  that contrasted the temple’s browns and greens, but it was his garnet red hair that really made him stand out.

Weird, she thought. Was he standing there the entire time?

She was still staring at him when he turned around. His eyes widened the moment they met hers, and it took everything in her not to look away from him.

(She’d never seen someone with eyes as gray as his.)

She froze in place at the intensity of his stare. He was already making his way to her, and she could feel her fight or flight response kicking in at the stranger rapidly approaching her—

“You,” he said, his voice deep and commanding. “You’re able to see me?”

“Uh, yes?”

He only spoke a few words, but his mere presence was intimidating—as if a single wrong statement from her would result in punishment.

He looked relieved—more relieved than anyone she had ever seen—and he spoke again.

“Oh, this—this is good. Finally…” he muttered to himself. It was only then that she noticed the bloodstain on his yukata, right across his stomach.

“You—you’re bleeding, you have to—“ she reached out to his arm in an attempt to hold him.

But when she did, she could only blanch. Her hand went  _right through_  his arm, as if he were an apparition. She saw her fingers stick out of his sleeve, and she pulled her hand back as quickly as she could, scrambling to get away from the man—whatever the  _hell_  he was.

“Hey, wait! Don’t you dare run from me when I’m not finished yet!” the man— _thing_ —yelled at her.

She tried to run despite his command, but in a flash of almost inhuman speed, he was standing in front of her again, arms outstretched.

_How did he—_

“Don’t run away. Just—I’m not here to hurt you.” There was still a forcefulness to his tone, but she could’ve sworn she heard desperation in his voice.

Any sane person would bolt it right about now, especially considering how a barefoot stranger in a bloodstained yukata looked extremely suspicious to say the least. Yet she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure if it was her fear that kept her frozen, or if it was something else—lord knows whatever it was.

The man relaxed his posture when he realized she wasn’t trying to run away anymore.

“I suppose I’ll have to explain everything from the beginning.”

“Explain what?”

“All this,” he pointed at himself, stopping at the blood stain, “and this, too.” She flinched back when he tried to reach for her, but his hand only went through her shoulder.

“Just what—what  _are_  you…?” she asked.

“Dead, as it happens.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I was  _dead_.” His eyes narrowed impatiently at her—he probably didn’t like repeating himself. “I used to be alive, but it seems I’m stuck here, wandering aimlessly without remembering a damned thing about myself or how I got here.”

The information was too much to take in all at once. MC rubbed her eyes to make sure this was real—maybe she was still asleep at the hotel, and this was all just a fatigue-borne fever dream. Sure enough, he was still in front of her, looking at her expectantly.

“You really don’t remember anything?”

“No. All I know is that I died some time ago and that this,” he looked down at blood stain, “is probably why.”

“I really don’t know what to make of all this…”

He locked eyes with her again, making sure she didn’t turn away.

“You’re the first person—the  _only_  person—who’s been able to see me. I’ve been trying for so long to get someone to notice me, but nothing worked. No one can see me or hear me—no one, save for you anyway.”

 _Why_ me _, though?_

“How long have you…been like this?” she blurted, keeping her true questions to herself.

He closed his eyes for a moment, looking contemplative.

“…A long time. With nothing better to do, I counted all the seasons since I first got here, all the times the cherry blossoms came into bloom and went. It’s been almost five hundred years.”

She was still trying to come to terms with the fact that she was either speaking with an actual ghost—her disbelief  _very_  much suspended at this point—, or she really was slowly going insane from overwork. Yet even then, he didn’t look like he was lying at all. If anything, he looked genuinely desolate. Something in that expression made her heart stir with something akin to pity.

(And oddly enough, nostalgia.)

“It seems I can’t move on with all that I’m forgetting.” He raked a hand through his hair, and she wondered for a moment if it was as soft as it looked. “That’s why you  _must_  help me remember.”

This was a proposition—more of a demand, really—she never thought she’d receive in  _any_  lifetime. If she thought about it, the whole thing was silly—a centuries-old, disembodied spirit was asking her for help to move on to the afterlife because he couldn’t remember a thing about himself? No, this was all something out of a cartoon.

(Yet she still didn’t leave.)

“Look, even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know what to do,” she told him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can help you.”

The man’s face immediately fell at her rejection and she could feel the beginnings of regret creep up on her.

“…It’s true. I have nothing I can give you in return, but even so,” he turned back to face her in earnest, “all I have is you. Even if you’re the only one just—please…don’t leave.”

That struck a bell in her, and somehow, she knew she’d heard those words somewhere before. Somehow, prostration didn’t suit this man at all. If anything, she could tell he wasn’t used to begging. His voice was a punch to her stomach, bringing up emotions from places she didn’t know.

_I really hope I don’t regret this._

“…Do you remember your name, at least?”

“No. I don’t remember anything, really. Just that I used to be different from what I am now.”

“Hm, but we’ll need something to call you. I can’t keep referring to you as ‘ghost’ or ‘hey, you’, you know.”

His eyes perked up, and she caught something—hope—flash momentarily in them.

“You’re really going to help me?” He moved closer to her, but this time, she didn’t flinch back.

MC gave him a rueful smile. “It’s not like I can just drive you away.”

She chided herself internally. Making deals with otherworldly beings was a terrible idea, and all the horror movies she binge-watched with Umeko were coming back to her, yelling that this was downright  _crazy_.

But she couldn’t think of him as otherworldly when he looked so human.

Lost, tired, and painfully  _human_.

“…Nobu,” he said, breaking her reverie.

“Sorry?”

“You can call me that for the time being until we find out my real name. I saw it carved onto some plaques around here. I’ll just borrow it for now.”

She thought it was funny that he had the audacity to borrow another person’s name, but, for a reason she couldn’t fathom, she knew the name suited him more than it did anyone else.

 _Nobu_.

* * *

The train ride back home was surreal, to say the least.

Umeko was leaning on her shoulder, tired after spending most of her time at the shopping arcade. Meanwhile, the ghost— _Nobu_ , she reminded herself—floated awkwardly across her, unsure of how to act in a moving vehicle chock full of people.

She was still getting used to the fact that no one else could see him, so seeing his form phase in and out of other passengers was still pretty bizarre.

However, the strangest thing of all was his idea of tagging along with her all the way back home.

* * *

_“I’ll have to be by your side at all times if we want any progress at all,” he told her matter-of-factly._

_“What, why? Couldn’t I just meet with you here once a week or something?”_

_“That won’t do. If I’m going to get my memories back, then I’m going to need you constantly. I’d be wasting time and sitting here doing nothing if I had to wait for you come back.”_

Demanding little—

_“That’s true, but I have a life too, you know. And a job. I can’t just put all that aside for this.”_

_“Then we’ll have to compromise. I’ll go with you until I get my memories back,” he announced as if it were a decree._

_“What?”_

_“It’s the only way we’ll be able to get this done as quickly as possible.”_

_Even if he was being extreme about it, the guy had a bit of point. Still, she’d be damned if her daily living was at stake here._

_“Okay, fine,” she conceded, sighing. “But only on two conditions.”_

_“Oh? Name them.” His look was challenging, almost smug even._

_“One, try not to talk to me in public. I might seem crazy to other people if they see me talking to thin air.”_

_“Feasible. What’s the second one?”_

_“I need my privacy, so just—just don’t pop in at random times without asking me first. Especially if I’m in my room.”_

_He looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded._

_“Fine. Deal.”_

* * *

After dropping off a reasonably exhausted Umeko back at her place, MC trudged on back to her apartment, Nobu still floating beside her. It was still somewhat jarring to picture a floating man next to her, but she supposed weird things happened to everyone at one point; her turn just so happened to be at this very moment.

“You people have strange modes of transport,” he spoke, breaking the silence. “You’re all trapped together inside a moving metal…box of some sort.”

“Well, yeah. Transportation evolved the past few centuries, you know. We’ve come a long way from horses and palanquins.” It was almost like speaking to an old man—a dead, strangely attractive, and not-so-old-looking man.

They finally reached her MC’s apartment, and before MC could even unlock the door with her key, Nobu phased through her front door like he owned the place.

“You can’t just barge in my house like that!” she yelled at him, but Nobu didn’t seem to care.

“ _This_  is a house? It’s more of a hovel, I’d say. How do you even go about your day in this tiny space?” As scathing as his words were, he said it without a hint of mockery or malice. Rather, he seemed genuinely baffled at the size of her apartment.

Nobu hovered around, noting the placement of the appliances and picture frames lining the table. He was pretty inquisitive for a ghost, she thought.  _Though it’s not like I have a point of reference._

“Most people’s apartments are about this big. You must’ve lived in a castle or something if you think this is a hovel.” she explained to him.

She spent the next few minutes trying to get all her things in order, trying not to be bothered by her ghostly companion asking an onslaught of questions about her TV, laptop, and toaster.

“Nobu, calm down first. Look, I know I said I’d try to help you get your memories back, but I need to rest first. Can’t this wait till tomorrow?”

He didn’t look pleased in the least, but he conceded anyway.

“I suppose we can start tomorrow then. Don’t forget your promise or I’ll pester you until you give in.”

 _Was it possible for a ghost to be so_ petulant?

She made her way to her room and drew an invisible line to stop him from following her inside.

“Remember the second condition. Privacy, okay?”

“Afraid I’ll see something I won’t like?”  _I only met the guy today and he’s already insufferable._

MC rolled her eyes before closing the door and plopping down on the bed.

The whole day was probably just a dream—an odd dream that felt achingly familiar even in its utter strangeness.

* * *

She woke up the next day, groggy and mildly disoriented from the night before. Half of her was expecting the ghost outside her door to just be a product of her overworked mind and obsession with TV dramas—god knows how many of them she’d watched so far.

When she opened the door, however, she was met the sight of Nobu lounging on her living room floor, stretching around like a cat who owned the place.  _Not a dream. Damn._

“You slept in today,” he said, sounding bored. “I waited a long time for you to get up.”

It was like the guy who begged her not to leave him yesterday and the person sprawled across her floor were two completely different people. She wondered if he was just as obstinate in his past life.  _Good luck to whoever had to put up with that every day._

“Can you blame me? Meeting ghosts isn’t exactly part of my daily schedule,” she sighed. “Anyway, I know I said I’d help you, but I honestly have no idea how me being here actually does anything.”

Nobu scratched his head. “If you must know, I’ve been trying to figure everything out on my own for a few centuries—you know just how damned well that turned out. I was thinking maybe your presence could help trigger something.”

In theory, his idea made sense to her, but she still didn’t understand why  _she_  of all people had to be tasked with this. As far as she knew, she didn’t have any special connection with the supernatural (but did anyone  _really_  have one?), nor did she ever remember doing anything to upset the dead—at least she  _thought_  she didn’t.

Despite all her doubts, she pulled up a notepad and pen. She began to write down all she knew about Nobu, all the way from  _five-hundred year-old spirit,_  to  _death by stomach wound._ Not a very good start, but it was something.

“What are you writing down over there?” He floated over to peek at her notes.

“What we know so far,” she answered. “Have you recalled anything else from last night?”

“Hm, well, I actually wandered around the town while you were still asleep. This place is  very…peculiar.”

“How so?”

Nobu began to detail how he’d never seen such gigantic structures side-by-side. According to him, everything was fast, metal, and gigantic—not to mention the sheer amount of people walking around the area and getting into those moving metal boxes (trains, she corrected).

“Did you see anything familiar, maybe? A landmark or anything like it?”

“No. I think the place I used to live in looked a lot different from your town. Less people and more fields. Horses, also.” He closed his eyes to think. “Swords, too.”

MC jotted down more notes.

_Doesn’t know modern tech. Lived around 500 years ago. Probably feudal era?_

She bit her lip a bit.

_Horses, fields, swords—a peasant? a samurai?_

“Nobu, do you remember ever using a sword?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you saw a lot of swords in your time. Maybe you used them at one point? Kinda like this?” MC tried to replicate what she’d seen from the old samurai movies, using her right hand to unsheathe her nonexistent sword from her scabbard. Her attempt at it must’ve been shoddy, if Nobu’s unamused expression was an indication.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Nobu criticized, his brows furrowing. “If you draw with your arms outstretched like that, you’ll be thrown off balance. It’s more like this.”

He stood up and gave her a demonstration. He drew his imaginary sword in one fluid, practiced motion, and MC found herself transfixed by his movements. The way he did it looked so natural,  _graceful_  even, like he’d been doing it his whole life. Maybe it wasn’t a bit of a stretch to assume he was a samurai.

“Well, look at that,” MC smiled at him. “You just remembered something important.”

His eyes widened in realization. “Hells, you’re right.”

He repeated his unsheathing again and even began doing a bit of slashing motions for good measure. MC wondered if he was a skilled enough swordsman to be able to join the upper ranks of feudal society—he certainly looked the part. Bloodstained ghost he was, she could still see his toned arms through his sleeves and a view of his muscled chest through the front folds of his  _yukata_ —

“Am I really that amusing to stare at?” he teased, smirking at her. She had to cough to hide her blush.

_Damn guy was enjoying this._

“…Anyway, I think we made good progress today. I still have work tomorrow, so I’ll see what I can do after that.”

If anyone knew an apparition made her flustered, it would be the end of her.

* * *

“You look like you just died.”

“That’s not a funny joke, Umeko.”

“I’m not joking.”

Thankfully, the lunchtime rush had just ended, so MC and Umeko were taking a break from the day’s patrons for a while. MC felt the smell of coffee hit her nostrils when she realized Umeko brewed a cup for her.

“Mm, thanks,” MC said, taking a sip.

“No problem. But seriously though, you look like you’ve seen better days. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

In truth, MC had stayed up all night googling the entire history of feudal Japan to see if it might help Nobu somewhat. He was insistent that she show him every single picture she could find—hence the sheer number of tabs she had open last night. Fortunately for them, he was able to remember some things, albeit little by little.

Weirdly enough, he was almost obsessively fixated on the food pictures of all things. He went on and on about tea ceremonies, mochi, and confections—particularly konpeito, for some reason. His eyes twinkled fondly when he talked about the treat, like it had some sentimental value to him. MC was almost inclined to ask why, but she felt that was territory she shouldn’t cross.

Little did he know that she knew how to make konpeito. Maybe she’d try making some if she had the time—

“Hellooo, earth to MC,” Umeko waved a hand in front of her. “Please tell me it’s a man who’s keeping you up at night and not some new TV drama.”

Nobu’s face, in a perpetual smirk, appeared in her mind. “Maybe you’re not too far off.”

“Wait, what? You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend!”

Even after their break ended, MC still wouldn’t give in to Umeko’s grilling. It was a silly thing to think, but the ghost in her apartment would be her secret and no one else’s.

* * *

Nobu had taken a strange obsession with television—the evening news and historical dramas to be specific—so tonight was one of the nights MC flipped through the channels for him.

“…And now, on today’s news, three siblings were killed in an apartment fire just this afternoon…” the newscaster announced, photos of the burning three-story building flashing on the screen.

“Talk about terrible news,” MC spat. “Why do you even like watching this, Nobu? Everything on primetime news is either depressing or disappointing.”

She expected a snarky reply from him, but was met with nothing. When she turned to face him, his eyes were glued to the screen, completely focused on the flames that engulfed the building.

“Nobu?”

He was still catatonic. Her words practically bounced off his ears as he kept watching the news.

“Hey, are you okay—“

“It was on fire, too,” he spoke, as if in a trance.

“You remember something?” MC’s tone grew frantic. The news must have triggered another memory, though this time, MC had an inkling it wasn’t a pleasant one.

“There was fire everywhere and I was inside. Couldn’t breathe. Too much smoke. Blood all around, too. I think…I might’ve met my end there.”

 _Fire_. If she was right, then Nobu must have died in a fire with a wound on his stomach. She imagined all the gruesome thoughts his death entailed. How cruel it must’ve been, to perish that way—trapped in a blazing inferno, not knowing any way to escape, resigned to fate’s hands alone.

(She could almost feel the flames from his memory tickle her skin at that moment.)

His eyes were glazing over in muted recollection, and MC was almost tempted to hug him were she able to. Instead, she settled for stroking his back—or at least trying to. Her hand went through his ghostly form, but she still continued. The light returned to his eyes when he noticed MC’s attempt at comforting him.

“I’m sorry,” she told him.

“What for? You didn’t do anything.”

“…That’s why. I’m sorry I can’t do anything for you except this.” She continued to stroke his outline in a gesture of comforting him.

He looked wary at first, but his expression then melted into resignation. Both of them sat together like that in silence, the atmosphere too heavy for any of their usual talk.

True, she felt no warmth coming from him, yet the way he looked as she settled her hand on him convinced her that maybe, just maybe, he could feel her touch.

* * *

After that day, it was as if Nobu withdrew into his own shell.

He’d gotten a lot quieter as of late, either opting to wander around town or silently stare holes into MC’s apartment. He’d also stopped pestering her about getting his memories back. It felt unsettling seeing him so pensive when he was normally so pushy all the time. She almost missed their little spats together.

A part of her knew she should be happy at him regaining a good number of his important memories back, but the weary look on his face convinced her otherwise. The fire on the news must have brought back something he didn’t want to remember.

(She, too, recoiled at the thought of the fire.)

On some days, he’d come back home from exploring, and MC would give up altogether on asking him if he recovered some of his memories. His exhausted expression said it all—he looked like he had just returned from a war.

However, if she had to pinpoint what unnerved her the most, it was when he watched her cook one time.

She was frying some tempura for lunch one day when Nobu idly commented on her cooking.

“You’re a good cook, aren’t you?”  

“Well, if you think so.” A compliment was rare coming from him, and all she could do was blush without looking at him.

“Someone used to cook for me too, I think,” he remarked. “The food was good and warm. And the flavor was gentle.” The fondness in his voice from when he spoke about the konpeito returned in full force.

_He must’ve really liked his cook’s food, huh? I almost want to know how their food tasted like._

Turning to look at him, she wanted to ask more about the cook. But when she saw a painfully wistful smile trace his lips, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

(All she knew was that her heart ached at the sight of that smile.)

* * *

One morning, MC caught her own reflection in the mirror while changing her shirt.

“Still the same, huh?” she said, bitterly gazing at the birthmark on her stomach. The thin, white line traced across her abdomen, not unlike the remnants of a scar.

She had asked her mother about it one day, and all her mother could tell her was that it had already been there the moment she was born. MC always thought of the mark as odd; she used to wonder why it was shaped like a scar and not a regular discoloration. Was there a mystical, prophetic meaning behind it, or was it a product of her body’s machinations?

Either way, the mark still eluded her. But of course, no one had to see it or even know about it—this was her little secret to keep.

“Someone left something outside your door. They said it was important,” Nobu’s head popped through the wall, not even bothering to look ashamed at his intrusion.

“Hey! Didn’t I tell you not to barge in here?” MC quickly scrambled to find a shirt to cover her abdomen, but it was too late. His eyes didn’t miss the mark.

“…Where did you get that?” he asked with a voice more solemn than she’d ever heard it.

“My shirt?” MC knew perfectly well what he was referring to, but she felt flustered at the prospect of having to talk about  _that_ in front of him.

“The scar, I mean.”

“Oh, er, it’s just a birthmark. I honestly don’t know where it came from—it was already there when I was born and well—“ She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him.

Nobu was  _crying_.

She didn’t even know it was possible for ghosts to shed any tears at all, yet here he was, his expression utterly heartbroken and miserable. His usual haughtiness was gone, and for the first time, he truly looked like what he was—a lonely, broken spirit burdened with grief that no one, not even she, could ever hope to understand.

“Nobu…?”

He reached out to touch the mark, and she would have flinched if not for how gentle his hand was. His fingers stopped right on the scar, tracing it with an almost fleeting caress. MC swore she felt goosebumps at the way he was touching her.

(In this moment, in this split-second, he felt  _human_.)

“Did—did you remember something, Nobu?” MC asked him tentatively.

“I—“ He was choking on his words. “I really am such a fool…”

He said nothing further, and she chose not to prod any deeper. The plain sight of him sobbing made tears well up in her, too. There was an indescribable pain coming from the pit of her stomach, and she couldn’t hold back the sobs that escaped her.

He wasn’t the only one missing something—she, too, had a jagged, broken piece in her that never found its lost counterpart. Suddenly, she remembered all those nights long ago when she’d wake up with tears, weeping for reasons she could never seem to decipher. No matter how much she tried to remember, the only remnants of her sorrow were fading glimpses of red and gray. The emptiness she’d felt for the longest became even more hollow when she saw him.

_Why does it hurt when I look at you?_

(Deep down, in the recesses of her soul, she hoped he had the answer.)

* * *

Her cheeks were dried with yesterday’s tears when she woke up the next day. Her heart was heavy, and she dreamt of the same red and gray she hadn’t seen since her childhood. This time, though, they were clear enough to be remembered. She knew just  _who_  wore those colors proudly, as if they were meant for him and him alone.

Only one person could ever stir up the loneliness she’d kept hidden deep in her soul for so long.

“Lord Nobunaga,” she whispered.

She looked around her bedroom to find Nobu— _Nobunaga_ —but she couldn’t see a trace of him anywhere. She checked the opened the door to the living room. He wasn’t there either.

“Lord Nobunaga!” she shouted, expecting a response.

No response.

Grabbing a jacket, she rushed outside her apartment building, desperate to find him and tell him everything she left unsaid. She ran in the streets of her town, not bothered by the people who gaped at her for shoving past them.  _Nothing matters until I find you._

Every corner she turned, she only saw people who weren’t him. A fear gripped her heart—had he moved on without telling her? She pushed the thought to back of her mind as far as she could, but the fear was already taking root in deep within her.

In an almost foolish impulse, she made her way to the nearest train station, pushing her way through the bewildered bystanders. Sprinting more than she ever did in her life, she made it for the gates and scanned her subway pass before boarding the train.

_Please, please let him be there—_

The moment she got off, she made her way as fast as she could to Teramachi, back to the temple—back to where everything started—and hoped to God, Buddha, or any other deity who heard her to  _please_  let him be there.

Finally, she reached the temple, and her heart was drumming against her chest after all the running she did that day.

Racing toward the temple gate, she laughed bitterly when she saw the stark white characters lining the gate’s brown facade.

「 _Honnou-ji_ 」

_I really am such a fool._

The main hall was as empty and austere as it always was, but she didn’t care. She looked around all the places she thought he’d be at—near the  _saisen_  box, up in the trees, back at the main gate, around the inner grounds—but he was nowhere to be found.

 _God, no,_ please _don’t be gone—_

There was still one place she hadn’t checked yet, not even during her first visit there. Her legs and lungs ached and burned, but she ignored the pain and strode behind the main hall. There, guarded by two stone lanterns, stood a mausoleum, proud and regal against the sunlight. A wooden plaque rested atop the mausoleum. When she read the inscription on the plaque, MC didn’t bother holding back the tears she’d kept in all day.

「 _Nobunaga’s Official Shrine_ 」

Kneeling down on the ground, she wept for all the things she could never say—and all the things she’d never be able to say anymore.

_I’m sorry I remembered too late._

_I’m sorry I moved on ahead of you._

_I’m sorry you’ve been alone for so long._

* * *

He never returned to her apartment after that.

The only logical conclusion she could come up with was that he’d moved on already. Despite that, she still had a small twinge of hope left in her that maybe, he’d come back to her apartment like always.

But he never did. Days turned to weeks, then to months, and she was still alone.

In the end, she had no choice but to give up. He was better off wherever he was right now, not bound by any sentiment of the past. Surely, that was much more pleasant than wandering the earth as an amnesiac spirit.

(Though sometimes she wondered if he missed her, too—wherever he was.)

Slowly, life was becoming peaceful again. Her dreams halted to a complete stop, and her nights were spent without waking up in tears anymore.

Even though the dull ache in her never seemed to go away, she lived her life as she normally did. With time, life became as halcyon as it was before. No one around her suspected anything when she smiled and nodded like always—not that she had a problem with it. The burden she carried was hers alone.

“MC!” Umeko yelled at her from inside the kitchen, shaking her from her musings. “Could you go and wipe the counter for me? I sorta have my hands full with the dishes.”

“Sure, no problem.”

It was past closing time and the restaurant was empty and eerily silent. Lately, MC had come to resent the quiet—the lack of any noise brought her mind to places she didn’t want to revisit anymore, and she  _really_  didn’t need that right now.

Wiping the countertops, she sighed to herself when the door chimed open.  _Didn’t they see that we’re closed?_

“Excuse me, we’re—“

“Melon soda.”

Only one voice could sound so demanding, yet she missed it more than anything in the world.

Turning to look at him, she saw him standing there, proud and tall with a gentle smile on his face.  _Alive_.

(And finally, finally home.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my secret santa piece for @thepearlsword on tumblr!  
> If you’re in need of a visual aid, I based the location of the temple on the actual Honnou-ji in Kyoto!
> 
> >[Temple gate](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e4/Honnouji_sanmon.jpg/1200px-Honnouji_sanmon.jpg)  
> >[Main hall (with saisen box in front)](https://www.japanvisitor.com/images/content_images/honnoji-temple-101.jpg)  
> >[Nobunaga's shrine behind the main hall](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9a/Honnouji_Nobunagako-byo1.jpg)
> 
> Fun fact: The original Honnou-ji was burned down, and this temple was built a near the original location.


End file.
